


The Sweetest Spoils

by TheMockingCrows



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Body Worship, Breathplay, Crossdressing, Food Kink, Frottage, Gun Kink, Licking, M/M, Praise Kink, Situational Humiliation, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/pseuds/TheMockingCrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To spice up your romance and have a bit of a thrill, you and your boyfriend decide to play a round of The Most Dangerous Game: Winner Takes All. Whoever wins the fight wins the island, as well as the loser, to do whatever he pleases with. The best part of all?</p><p>Even if you lose, you're winning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetest Spoils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheScribblingArtist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScribblingArtist/gifts).



> Tumblr mirror: http://themockingcrows.tumblr.com/post/147497826402/the-sweetest-spoils

The hit landed square above your jaw from somewhere to your left, knocking your shades loose and sending you sprawling. You would have given anything to be able to use AR, wouldn't have likely gotten clocked so suddenly, but alas that would have ruined the entire point of the agreement and rendered your gentlemanly handshake null and void.

One week was the limit, and the restrictions were simple: split up the island with one half to Jake and one half to yourself. Prepare traps, prepare supplies, protect yourself from the environment and from the creatures that lurked within it. Survive however you had to.. and then meet in the center of the battlefield with all your prepared moves and traps to see who will win the island.

 

And the other inhabitant.

 

It wasn't serious as all that, really, none of it was a permanent setup. Though their actions would most definitely have a reaching effect on their lives in the future, adding a flavor to things. If you won, Jake would be even more yours to do as you pleased with. If Jake won.. Well. You had a feeling he'd had a number of things he wanted to try on you, but had been far too shy or embarrassed to admit to it.

You wouldn't be able to deny that you were curious what he'd do if he won, if he managed to outmaneuver and subdue you somehow. It was no secret Jake had a fairly large kink related to guns, same as you couldn't contain the shiver that overtook you when cold steel was placed against your throat and the sensitive parts of your body. His search history showed hints of other interests that could either be fantastic, or humiliating if they were deployed upon your person.

When the second hit landed, that humiliation crept closer to fruition. You taste blood in your mouth and your nostrils flare with heavy, panicked breaths as you fight to right yourself. Fireworks were clouding and clambering inside your head and vision, keeping you off balance.

 

Where was he?

 

Where the FUCK was he? Jake had never struck and retreated that fast in your past spars, so what was he on about now? This wasn't his usual pattern at all. Who the hell changes their entire strategy of attack in a week?

Someone who desperately wanted to dominate their boyfriend down to the very core of his being, by beating him face to face and EARNING those spoils. It had to be. It was so utterly Jake “I Did A Good Job I'm Such A Good Boy Praise Me Now” English that you could have slapped your own face in frustration for not anticipating it. You know, if you weren't trying to figure out which way the slippery bastard had run off after his guerrilla attack. He'd left no boot prints, no skids...Was he barefoot?

 

Was your crazy bastard of a boyfriend barefoot out here??

 

Probably. He was a wild child, barefoot more often than not already, sometimes needed to be reminded to button his clothing right or to dress properly at all once the weather got warm and his first instinct was to just strip down and survive the heat. Same as yourself. Living alone that long with no other humans around tended to have that effect on you: clothing became secondary thoughts and annoying sometimes. Sensory hell at the worst of times.

You tracked him for over an hour, catching sight of twitching underbrush in the distance, and the massive tracks of the pale beasts that roamed the island proper. But no actual sightings of the elusive Jake English. How fucking slippery could this guy BE? You'd whipped his ass HOW many times in spars? Countless. Neat flawless victories too, if you felt like tooting your own horn.

Every time Jake had beaten you, it had been through inventiveness that caught you off guard, skewed your remembered research into his tells and patterns. He broke patterns more often than anyone you knew, threw the results. It HAD to be on purpose. You refuse to believe it's by chance.

By the time you feel the trap tightening around your ankle, it was too late to react. The vine squeezed close and jerked your leg fast enough upward that your head hit the ground like a cracked whip before you rose a good ten feet in the air. How. HOW. How the fuck had he rigged this to the point where you actually fell in? Were you that used to AR helping that solo work after so many years was nigh impossible?

Over dramatic, yes, but the end of the world feels like the end of the world. You're dazed, your head hurts, but you muster enough strength to curl up and cut the vine, twisting your body in place like a cat to stick the landing without breaking your limbs or your neck. The ground is unforgiving under your knees, you feel your joints jostle and your teeth click.

 

“Come now, Strider, are you sure that's the way you want to play this?” comes Jake's easy voice. You waver as you twist and point your sword, still disoriented from the strikes to the head early and the sudden break of gravity you'd experienced. “If you'd stayed hanging I could have shown you my tiger trap next, now you're just going to have to find it on your own. Very carefully.”

 

Jake had stripped off his shirt, dark skin exposed to the sunlight, no bright shirt or symbols to make him stick out in the forest. He is indeed barefoot as you guessed, knee high trailing mud in various stages of dryness, face dirty and hair wild from the humidity, shorts strapped and buckled down with his guns and various other supplies that he'd brought from his camp. Supplies, you realize, to help set traps. How many of these things had he managed to make during the one week you were gathering things together from memory?

The better question was how much of this terrain had he already personally customized over the years out of boredom, just ripe for slings and pitfalls.

You frown and slowly rise, turning your body as Jake slowly begins to circle like a predator, surprised to feel your blood running cold. What is this feeling. What is it?? Intimidation? The feeling of suddenly being hunted never bothered you before, dealing with drones and fights of your own instigation for as long as you had. But the sight of Jake unhitching one of his guns, licking his lips with a wild glint in his eyes? It did something to you.

 

The growing lump in your jeans could attest to that.

 

“While I'm certain that would be absolutely fascinating, Jake, I'll have to decline. At least until this little contest is over,” you say as the ground starts to finally feel more steady beneath your feet. “Unless you'd rather go ahead and admit defeat now? I'm sure you'd look fantastic on your knees precisely as you currently are, no need to rush off and shower up even.”

“Enchanting offer! But I'm going to have to say I'm not interested in going out without a minimum of two last big hurrahs, so you'll have to hang onto that mental image. If anything, so you'll know how to act while tasting gun oil,” Jake said merrily as ever, cocking his gun and halfway to the second one for a quick draw as he watched your face and stance shifting, trying to be two or three moves ahead of you.

 

Your dance is fluid and fairly brief, almost crossing arms at every other glance. Trying to settle the tip of your blade to the side of Jake's hand, keeping him at bay. English could get closer, could tease, but he was not to cross that damn center point. Not at all. No. Not allowed. You turn the edge of your blade as you circle, cutting his skin like the outer peel of a grape as a warning.

A warning he ignored, pushing against your blade to the detriment of his arm, shooting just past your right ear. Your hearing is white noise and ringing, and you can only thank some inner force you weren't aware of for not flinching too badly and immediately following through with a counter attack instead. You bring your sword down at an angle, aiming for his side, hoping to slow him down. He takes the hit while dodging out of your range, firing again near your feet.

Rather than shy back, you decide to launch face first after turning your blade, knowing you didn't want a kill strike on your own boyfriend, once more striking for his middle as he fired again past your ear. Sound was gone, the backdrop of the noise of the jungle disappearing into the high pitched whine that was your hearing now thanks to him, accompanied by the thudding of your heart.

Another swing, and instead of another dodge, Jake blocked. He shoved a pistol up against the back edge of your sword and managed to keep stance instead of skidding away, pointing the other gun at your face. You had to dodge fast, dropping down to your knees to avoid the live ammo that fired uncomfortably close to you, filling your nostrils with the tangy smell of spent gunpowder and hot metal. Jake wasn't kidding around. He'd literally almost shot you in the face. … Though. He already knew how fast you could dodge, it had to be his trust in you showing through again. The same trust that let him know that your sword would never be the thing to truly end his life.

 

Hospital, maybe. Death? No.

 

Flurries of attacks go out and get deflected, dodged, or completely shut down between the two of you. Your muscles are aching from the heat and thick humidity, used to open breezes and sea air as opposed to the closed in sauna of the jungle in broad daylight. Jake is bouncing like an eager puppy, showing no interest in backing off.

 

He'd hunted you down, played with a trap, and now he wanted his prize.

 

You wondered if you were going crazy, wanting to give him that prize so eagerly. Between the heat, the exertion and the ache in your dick? Probably a good case.

 

Jake reloads finally, both pistols spent, and you launch yourself at him to take a strike to his head. Bless the man, but he's woefully easy to knock out. At least he bounces back fast.

 

You expected him to fire, to drop his guns, to punch. You did not expect to have him drop and catch his own weapon, pistol whipping you across the side of the head as he dropped to the side out of the way of the katana. You feel your eyes roll back, vision going dark before you even hit the ground.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
“... Coming around, chap?” Jake asks, voice soft, smooth and gentle once more greets you as it urges you back to wakefulness. Urges you to come back towards the light and the headache blooming in your skull that it brings with it like a nasty tasting side dish. “Easy now, Strider, easy. Don't fight me on this, you'll wind up hurting yourself, and we don't want that.”

The pressure at your wrists and ankles takes longer to process through the headache, and it dawns on you that you're bound up somehow. You finally open your eyes and glance around. No sword. No jungle heat beneath your cheek.. No escape. Jake apparently dragged you back to his home, either before or after binding you, and had deposited you on the floor. You stare up at him, grimacing.

“..Well,” you start, “it's what I agreed to after all. This is how it's goin' to go down? Carry me around and tie me up?”

 

Jake's grin widens and he shakes his head, standing up and walking over you to the other side of the room. He returned with your katana, crouching over you and holding it completely wrong in order to cut your shirt open from the bottom up to the collar, then again where the straps of sleeves were resting over top your shoulders. He teases at your pants before doing the same thing, though this time only cutting the material in certain places so he could physically rip the denim and the fabric of your underwear apart and away from your body.

His actions were feral, vicious. Hungry. Jake's hands roved over your flesh almost reverently when it was exposed at last, leaning closer to kiss along the lines of lean muscle and the traces of scars, the skinny trace of your ribs when you breathed deeply and arched up towards his mouth. Traces of your sweat seemed to make the kissing all the sweeter, because Jake occasionally would pause to lick a stripe here and there till you squirmed.

 

“No, Strider.. It's not how it's going to go down. I've got plans for you, sweetheart. We're going to get you all nice and clean, and then we're going to have a good spot of fun. I'm lucky you're fairly slender, I'm quite certain this should work.”

“Do I even wanna know?” you ask, breath hitching again as Jake slid his hands and mouth over your muscle tissue, reverent gestures melding with the sensual. Your body was something to be cherished, and Jake was up for the job.

“Doesn't matter if you want to know: it's already happening.”

Jake moved the sword far to the side where it had been before scooping you up bridal style, kissing the restraints at your wrists and the back of your hands a few time as he carried you to the bathroom where a large tub was waiting. This proved to be not only the strangest bath you'd ever had, considering still being bound and the general circumstances, but also one of the most soothing, relaxing experiences of your life.

Maybe losing to Jake was for the better, if all he'd intended was to pamper you and lick your chest.

 

… Or not.

 

“Jake. What in the name of a zip code of fucks is that?” you demand once your boyfriend had gotten his fill of washing you from head to foot and touching most places on your body at least twice. A towel was being rubbed against your hair to urge it to dry faster, soothed down your back and left your line of sight perfectly clear to the pile of clothing sitting on the lid of the toilet. Something that was not jeans, or a t-shirt. That was not boxers.

“Well, Strider, I know that typically this attire is more suited for the realm of your usual perusal instead of mine, but I admit: there is a certain charm about the idea of maids. Especially when you take away the propriety and get a bit bawdy with the designs and have fun!” Jake laughed.

“... No.”

“Dirk, I love you, but you have horrendous short term memory. Far worse even than my own! Otherwise you'd remember that by my subduing you, love, you don't really get a say in this.”

“Jake, this is stupid, come on.”

Jake frowned, rocked back on his heels and tugged your tied wrists sharply downward, hard enough that it jostles you on your perch and you fear falling forward without being able to catch yourself as easily.

“Dirk, your opinion is a moot point: the dress stays. You can deal with your sour attitude and short pants another time, this is my winnings and I'll not have you shortchanging that on me. If you had won and demanded the same in exchange, I would have complied as per our gentlemanly agreement and handshake! Besides... I thought you'd like it. It's something right out of your animes, isn't it?”

 

It was not, at least any anime you'd admit to having watched. Especially once you realized there was no underwear, not even panties to cover yourself beneath the frustratingly short skirt. Nothing would be able to hide like this. /Nothing/.

You had to stop thinking too deeply on it to avoid getting hard over the idea, fucked up though it was. Now now, Dirk, no skirt lifting right off the bat. Had to be a good little maid, earn that praise, make your Master happy.

“Your feet are big and I have enough trouble understanding boot sizes as anything else, let alone heel sizes for women's shoes, so you're free of those. The stockings should be simple to get on,” he promised, undoing your bindings at last, showing the red, chaffed spaces beneath and kissing each one. “Come out when you're presentable, darling? I'll be waiting for you. Just come find me.”

The familiarity you had with pulling on layers of frilled fabric was limited, but aside from a strained shoulder trying to do the zipper in the back within a few attempts of shuffling your long arms around and grasping at it with your fingertips. Jake had gotten the sizes right for the dresses torso, fluffy upper thigh monstrosity that it was, right down to the stockings that hugged your legs just right to a slim headband of an accessory.

 

Jake must have done some damn good research to get even the accessories just right. You can't fluff your hair up properly or style it, and the moisture has made the ends start to curl, but.. you'd deal with it. After all, this was likely also something Jake would enjoy, given the situation.

Your boyfriend had been busy while you were asleep. While not in his bedroom, a bit of wandering eventually showed Jake in his dining room, table set up for two people. At the far end was a setup of treats and small plates, while from the kitchen came the dull sounds of coffee percolating away, perfuming the air with its slightly bitter scent. He was sitting proudly, hands folded, grinning ear to ear.. Ready for this. Ready for you.

At least he'd put a shirt on.

Padding over with careful steps to avoid slipping in the slick stockings, you pause near him and do a basic turn to let him see the full set in action. You didn't fill out the chest in the slightest, but... the rest seemed to work fairly well.

“Jake, I hope you know you made an error: if I get an erection in this thing, these skirts are going to lift straight up.”

“That's not an error on my part, chap, that's a feature.”

 

Your dick gave a twitch as the vague feeling of embarrassment kicked up higher. So that's his game... Fuck.

 

“Either way,” Jake continued, “I think it'd be a good time for you to get to work. Snacks, if you please? You get some as well, I promise.” He gestured towards the treats and the plates, implying you cut sections or grab samples and bring them nearer. Chocolate cake, cookies, and pumpkin pie were laid out with serving knives and some forks. You dish up a generous serving onto a plate, bending a bit more than you probably should have just to hear a faint groan of approval, and return to his side.  
  
By snacks, Jake apparently meant that he wanted fed. He pat at his knees in offer, and opened his mouth, wholeheartedly expecting perfect obedience... Well. Who were you to say no? Especially when you'd agreed to do this in the first place. With the fork at first, you feed small bites, though he soon requested to be fed bare handed, using it as an excuse to lick and suck at your fingertips in the premise of not missing a single crumb.

Feeding you in turn was intimate in a new way. Jake took the pie from you and held it patiently still so you'd eat as he stroked along your back softly, toyed with the ruffles of the skirt and the bow in back. He wasn't satisfied with just a few bites, making sure that you got plenty of each thing, helping you not make much of a mess at first. Every so often, he'd purr a soft compliment, called you beautiful, complimented the curve of your throat when he made you reach for a bite instead of keeping it perfectly in range.

The last piece was messy. Jake kept making you miss, smearing the sweet paste against your face, dropping it on your clothes despite your bitching protests against it. Him leaning in to lick you clean was enough to make your dick stand to attention beneath the lace and layers, lifting the bottom edge upright just as you'd feared. The feeling of becoming more and more exposed had your heart hammering, face red. Should you grasp yourself, shield and hide? Tug the skirt down? Let it all hang out?

 

The choice was made for you when Jake curled his fingers around your cock and gave it a few slow strokes, making you moan.

 

“Funny: I thought I remembered you saying 'No' to this dress, Strider, yet here you are moaning like a harlot on my lap and fit to burst from a few tugs!” Jake said with a soft tutting sound somewhere near your ear. Everything was so sensitive, even just the warmth and buzz of him speaking near you is maddeningly wonderful. “Would it be out of the range of possibility to assume you want to get on with the rest of my winnings then?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you saying this just because I'm holding you right now?” he asked, giving another firm stroke from base to tip, “Or because you're so into it that you'll burst if you don't get relief?”

 

Your mind flickers, tries to race, but you're swimming and squirming and rocking your hips any time Jake moves his firm grip.

 

“Both. You're touchin' me and I'm already losing my mind,” you groan, rocking quickly a few times before Jake pulled his hand free entirely. He catches your eyes, looking terribly serious. Then, devious.

“...Well then. How about you just show me how eager you are for this then,” Jake declared, resting his arms on the sides of the chair, fixing you with a challenging stare intense enough that your throat clenched shut.

“How do you expect that to happen?” He doesn't respond, so you stand up, reaching down to shove the skirt down over your dick to keep covered. “How am I supposed to be showing you this? What's a more compelling argument than this?”

“Be creative,” Jake said simply, impishly grinning. “Make a good case on my lap. ...If you're really that out of ideas, Strider, how about you rock those pretty hips of yours till you get your message across or make a mess of your skirts?”

 

So that's how this game was going to be. Your mind wanders, trying to sort out just where Jake got the material for this. How many pornos did he watch? How many filthy comics did he read, or fanfics did he jerk off to while picturing you in his lap?

You crawl back aboard while facing him, arms looped around his neck to brace your body as you shuffle your hips closer together, rocking in place to build up the friction. Jake wasn't able to hold still very long, rough hands rising to roughly grasp at your hips and guide your already thorough grinding on an even more rough path. He didn't want a few firm strokes anymore: he wanted you to spend yourself, and already it was a close call.

“A-aah.. Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck,” you cursed, a litany running off your tongue like molten honey, barely able to breathe once Jake started rocking his hips. The two of you rock and thrust, frotting for your damned lives before it devolved into anxious squirming and wet kisses, teeth clacking together hard enough that it hurt.

Jake was the impatient one, gasping out a demand for the movement to stop before he struggled to rise with you in his grasp. You worried about being dropped, or winding up toppled in a pile on the ground, but by locking your ankles behind your boyfriend's back you reduced the chances of him pulling away even on purpose to the barest of chances. Hopeful for a bed, you crooned against Jake's mouth, practically singing for him till your lower back was knocked against the tabletop and jiggled as Jake sought to dislodge you like a tick.

 

“Turn around,” he managed to growl out, one hand balancing and the other reaching down to open his shorts at last. A simple lean against the table proved to not be the right angle your boyfriend wanted, as he gripped your thigh to get you to raise a leg as well, resting it on the tabletop with the remaining leg down keeping balance. Jake kneaded your ass in approval before reaching past towards the center of the table, fingers wandering past salt and pepper and a bottle of hot sauce to land on-

“Olive oil?” you croak, “are you fucking serious?”

“Do you want me to get off you long enough go try and remember where I put the damn lubricant, Strider? I've no idea where we left it last, and I'm fairly sure it would take far longer than either of us are willing to be apart for.”

“Is it safe, though?” you ask as he tips the bottle, the room temperature liquid dripping onto his fingers and along the crack of your ass before he makes direct contact, stroking right along the sensitive ring of flesh. He gave little warning before pressing a finger in, waiting till you cursed and squirmed to add a second, a third following far faster than you'd been ready for.

“It's plenty safe enough if you stop squirming,” Jake promised, curving his fingers. “We'll wash up thoroughly later and find the lube, this is just a spot of adventure..”

 

You suppose if it worked for the Greeks, it would work now.

It was slick enough for Jake to finally line himself up and press inward a short time later, with no sign of drying out or dissipating like the normal lubricant tended to. No reapplication needed as he gripped your lifted thigh and the opposite hip for traction, tugging you down and flush to his own body with a flair of aggression that wasn't often seen outside of wrestling foreplay.

This was different than evenly matched tussles turned make outs turned sex. You were a prize won now, earned goods dressed in frills and driven to the point of desperation that made the instinctive way you rocked your body back onto his cock feel like the most natural thing in the world. Within minutes, Jake's teeth were at your shoulder and his left hand was at your throat, squeezing just gently enough that it made your head swim.

 

Neither of you showed signs of wanting the intensity to lessen, Jake going from rocking into you to slamming up against your hips as soon as your wincing and hesitant shifting had turned to moans. The added angle of your lifted leg was proving to be extremely useful, bracing you easier and offering a deeper path for your lover to slide into, and an even better angle for your prostate to not just be teased, but to be rubbed over and over as if Jake had just found a new toy that he wanted to play with.

A new toy that made you squirm and see spots, made your hips jerk and spasm on their own accord, made your usually steel trap mind go lax and pale in tandem with the biting at your shoulder. Even coming wasn't enough to call a halt. You'd painted the table white beneath you with a much pent up release, but Jake continued to thrust home even as your muscles contracted and you tried to pull forward.

No. You needed to sit more upright. Needed to lean back a bit, needed to not lose your mind when he grabbed your cock and stroked you in time with his own movements even when you cried out from being over sensitive and the extra jostle of not being held in place for traction otherwise. Everything was raw nerves and heavy breathing. You weren't focused on where you were anymore, you couldn't from your own orgasmic daze and the constriction at your throat from your boyfriend's hand that made you drool. The only things that mattered were pressure and temperature, color that moved, the sharp feeling of nails at your hip or teeth at your flesh.

Jake's final thrusts were vicious, an intensity you rarely got to see out of him and his otherwise milder manners but that you'd give next to anything to be able to see at -least- weekly. You knew just where the bruises would be later, and wanted him to kiss every single one of them. The feeling of Jake tensing against your back, muscles twitching, chest heaving as he caught his breath was as hot as the act had been. He leaned heavily to recover, murmuring praise near your ear as he released his grip at your throat.

 

You were amazing, you were fantastic, you'd felt so good, you behaved fantastically. You looked so sexy in that outfit, you'd put up such a good fight, you were the best maid anyone could ever ask for and he was so lucky to be dating you at all. He pulled out carefully and undid the back zipper on your outfit so it would be easier to tug up and off, keeping it from getting messy. Warmth trailed down your extended leg, and the bent one was going numb by the time Jake lifted you up off the table and carried you straight back to the bathroom while you came out of your daze.

Cleanup was being in the tub together, hot water and sweet smelling bubbles, soft cloth washing you all over as if you were a fragile toy instead of the fighter you were. There was no adjustment, no addendum of toughness. Just gentle, sweet and soft after the intensity. A fluffy towel and a prime spot in Jake's bed afterward, movies on offer with the string lights casting a soft hazy glow on everything.

You got to pick out a t-shirt to steal for the night instead of using one of your own, decided on _Wild Wild West_ for the two of you to watch, and even got treated to more of the pumpkin treats from earlier along with a nice dinner. It was.. strange really. Jake adored aftercare, loved spoiling you rotten, pampering you till you were a puddle of relaxation. It seemed to calm him just as much, petting on you as he did. So different from everything you were used to...

 

Whenever Jake was the one needing care, his needs and requests were basic, as yours used to be. Warm food, soft lights, lots of hugging and contact and petting his hair. Praise.

 

As the opening scenes started up and Jake curled close, you run your fingers through his hair and mumble how much you love him, already planning out how you could turn the tables next time. How best to pummel your lover into the ground.. and how best to pick up the pieces and string them back together with gold like he deserved.

 


End file.
